


The Great Game

by buckles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckles/pseuds/buckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is death Your only blessing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Game

She wears it to keep the others out. To hide; to shut the world out. To shut out her scouts. She can't get attached to them. She can't be her usual self around them, or it will wound her fatally. 

She remembers the cool camp nights, and she remembers _her_ face, with the strange tattoos, dark around her eyes, the sweet elf that strode across Ferelden with such terrible confidence. And Leliana was hers, and she would always be Leliana's. Forever.

Leliana knows she's feared. There's a dark part of her that revels in it, knowing the quiet terror she inspires in the hearts of the Inquisition's enemies. It's a small part, a sliver of power, which pales in comparison to the Maker's, but her power is one she has absolute faith in. 

She holds on to that image of her face. They call her the Hero of Ferelden now. And she feels nothing but pride. _**My** love_. _Mine_. 

Every morning before she leaves her room by the rookery, she wears her cloak of darkness. Justinia, her closest friend, is gone, and doom is upon all the world. She can't talk to Josephine like she can talk to Justinia. And that one Grey Warden... _her_ Grey Warden, is far, far away. And so her hood is up. 

Leliana remembers her stinging hot breath on her neck as their legs and arms intertwined that night. The unbridled delight; the passion...the joy. She clings to the memory. _We will be together again,_ she thinks. It is a promise. 

And a threat, issued to the world. To the Maker, who demands so much. The Maker will not claim the Inquisitor. Nothing will get in the Inquistor's way. She will not let the Maker reclaim another inch. Leliana _will_ succeed. The Inquisitor _will_ succeed. And the Maker will most _certainly_ not claim my Warden. 

She remembers her elf, eyes shining with happiness, looking up at her that first night together in Ferelden. And all she can seemingly remember about her body now is the way her skin looks a little more pallid, the minute capillaries and veins beneath her clear skin looking a little more grey, the darkspawn taint weaving its corruption through her blood, through her very essence. The Calling may be stopped one day, but the Hero of Ferelden _will_ die. She _will_ die before Leliana. _Is death Your only blessing?_

 _She is **mine**. And though she may die some day, it won't be today._ And Leliana pulls down her hood a little lower, and concentrates on her work.


End file.
